


Forging Friendships

by Archadian_Skies



Category: Kuroshitsuji : The Most Beautiful DEATH in the World - Iwasaki/Mori/Mari, Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blacksmithing, M/M, Mentor/Protégé, eric is a blacksmith alan is a student
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-19
Updated: 2017-07-19
Packaged: 2018-12-04 04:26:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11547450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Archadian_Skies/pseuds/Archadian_Skies
Summary: All senior students at the Division had to complete two six-month placements, one in Optics, one in Smithery. Having been assigned Eric Slingby, Alan hoped to learn as much as possible from him, pass this semester, and continue on in his journey to become a Field Agent. Or Administrator. Alan hadn’t quite decided just yet.





	Forging Friendships

“At our very core, there are two things that define us: our glasses, and our Scythes.”

Alan sat up straighter in his chair as Supervisor Spears addressed his class.

“Having successfully completed your semester with Optics, you will now move on to Smithery.” The Reaper seemed to look each and every one of them in the eye, piercing past their defenses and calling them to attention. “This subject is of utmost importance, on par with Optics, for what is a Field Agent without their Scythe?”

Their teacher accepted a folder from the Supervisor, who nodded cordially and took his leave after bidding them well.

“Learn ardently. It may be at the forge where you find your place in the Division.”

* * *

Smithery was located in the south-west segment of the Division, spanning both above ground and below with Engineering occupying the laboratories, and the forges populated by the Scythesmiths.

Alan knew that becoming a Scythesmith was to choose a path integral to the Division, but truly, he hadn’t given it much thought. Engineering was not his cup of tea and he possessed zero skill when it came to metalwork.

Still, he would treat the subject with respect and reverence even if it wouldn’t be a path he’d walk in future.

_Eric Slingby_

The name was printed on a piece of paper bearing a brief profile and body of work belonging to a man Alan guessed was as stern and hardworking as Supervisor Spears. He hoped to learn as much as possible from him, pass this semester, and continue on in his journey to become a Field Agent. Or Administrator. Alan hadn’t quite decided just yet.

The smell of the forges and the cacophony of sounds greeted Alan long before the sight of the workshops came into view.

Heat and smoke and banging and clanging and shouting and laughter filled the air, and the sunlight above ground softened below and became the orange glow of burning furnaces and kilns.

Scythesmiths brushed passed him, making their way from forge to anvil, holding segments of Grey Metal white hot from the flame, ready to be hammered and tempered.

The prickle of anxiety plucked at his nape and the tickle of a cough settled low in his lungs, his asthma itching as he grew more and more nervous.

Their class had been instructed to meet with their new mentors, and the workstation of their assigned mentor was printed on their paper. Which was around here  _somewhere_ , or so Alan desperately hoped because he stuck out like a sore thumb in his round glasses and Academy dove greys and polished shoes whilst all around him were burly lads and lasses in goggles and thick leather aprons and scuffed steel-capped boots.

“Are you lost, little mouse?” A soft, friendly laugh by his side. “Lookin’ for yer mentor are ye little one?”

“Uhm- yes ma’am.” Alan held out his paper as the lass set down a set of iron tongs the length of his legs. “I think I’m in the right place?”

“Oh, you’ve got Eric! Well right this way.” She shepherded him onward. “He’s been busy with an emergency replacement so he couldn’t leave the forge y’see. Eric! Eric, I found a little mouse in our workshop!”

“I’m not-!” Alan huffed in protest but had the air knocked from him as she slapped his back in jest and lazily waved goodbye.

“Take care ye don’ scare him, Eric.” She pretended to order the man pounding away on a large glowing blade across an anvil. The man paused in his hammering, setting it down as he bellowed with laughter and shooed her away, before tossing aside his gloves and apron.

“Good thing I hear lions and mice get along quite well, or so the stories say.” 

Eric Slingby.

Scythesmith and mentor.

Alan swallowed hard and tried not to stare but there was just  _so much_  to stare at and really now,  _really_ , who thought it would be  _fair_ to pair him up with-

with-

-those big broad shoulders and thick arms and those large blackened hands and long long hair in a messy bun and that big broad chest that had a voice as deep, a laugh as loud as a roaring furnace-

“Alan Humphries, are ye?” He had the  _audacity_  to lift the hem of his shirt up to wipe his sweaty brow and Alan saw too much skin, too much muscle and a rather distracting trail of hair down the line of his-

“Yes. Alan. That’s me.” Thrusting out his hand to shake made Eric grin and Alan really wished he wouldn’t. “Nice to meet you sir.”

“And you, our new resident workshop mouse.” His grin turned into a smile and Alan forgot to be angry. “No sir needed. Just call me Eric.”

An accent too, why why why was that necessary? A Scottish pronunciation changed the ‘Eh’ric to an ‘Ey’ric, and how could an ordinary name sound so handsome when he said it?

His hand was warm and calloused, his handshake firm yet friendly.

“I hope to learn much from you, si- uhm, Eric.” One word at a time, Alan Humphries, deep breaths, and one word after another.

“You’ll do just fine, little mouse.” Eric gave his hand an encouraging squeeze. “I know you will.”


End file.
